


give me back five minutes of my time

by everyredqueen



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Canon, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyredqueen/pseuds/everyredqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sitting on a damp beach in the middle of the night, with the taste of the sea still lingering in their mouths, they both silently thank whoever's listening that the other is still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give me back five minutes of my time

**Author's Note:**

> A ‘what if Nagisa and Rei had taken five minutes longer to find them on the beach’ fic. Fuck this anime it’s ruining my life.

Haru was always hard to read. His face was a blank canvas that absorbed a brush stroke of emotion as quickly as it was drawn, and he’d mastered the art of keeping his heart so thoroughly under his sleeve it was sometimes easy to wonder if he had one at all. It had always been that way. If anything, when they were children it had been worse. Haru had drawn strange, concerned looks from the other mothers picking up their children at the swim club when they were little, and awkward smiles from other adults who didn’t know how to deal with him. Teachers would frown, puzzled, and Haru would simply stare with that same, placid look.

To Makoto, though, it was like reading a familiar, well-thumbed book.

The way Haru’s eyes flickered when he was pleased. The way Haru clenched the left side of his jaw when he was thinking, frustrated. The way Haru’s lips parted a breath’s width when he left something unsaid – which was rare, knowing Haru, but Makoto had seen it all, knew it all, memorised it all.

But somehow, when the words had left his mouth, Haru became an enigma to even him. The soft part of his lips and the tiny hitch of his breath, the flare of his nostrils and the widening of his eyes – none of it made sense. Drops of emotion in the lines of his face, and the blank canvas that he was smeared the colours into a swirl of confusion.

Makoto smiled because his chest hurt, and that’s what Makoto always did when his chest hurt. A flicker of thought told him it was only the raw edges of his lungs causing him pain, but it was a thought like a dying flame, weak and easily put out.

The cool night air brushed past them like a lingering touch, and though his damp, clammy skin prickled with goose flesh, Makoto couldn’t feel the cold. All he could feel was the bottomless blue of Haru’s unreadable eyes engulfing him, like he’d been dragged out of one sea only to drown in another. He opened his mouth to speak again, but this time his words failed him, snatched away by the breeze before they could even sound. The silence around them hung as heavy as the humid air, the smell of the storm still strong.

It’s meaningless without you!

Haru swayed forward, eyes flickering, and Makoto automatically caught his shoulders, his body screaming in protest – it didn’t seem much compared to the pain in his chest. His mouth opened to ask ‘are you okay?’ – the terror of Haru over-exerting himself in saving him surging into his veins like a rush of adrenaline – but nothing came out.

I want to swim with you.

It was the closest Makoto could bring himself to saying ‘I love you’. To Haru, it was probably the same thing anyway. Makoto had nearly died tonight. He needed Haru to know, even if he could only say it in a single way.

Hands, cold and gritty with sand clamped around Makoto’s wrists, and their eyes met again.

Worry. Frustration. Contentment. Confusion. Comfort.

Relief so strong flooded Makoto he nearly lost the strength to keep himself sitting upright. The firm press of fingertips to the pulse in his wrists, asking if he’s alive, if he’s breathing, if he’s okay. The piercing stare cycling through a whirlwind of emotions, telling him he hates Makoto, he’s glad he’s alive, he’s glad he’s safe. The angle at which he leant forward, searching for the heat he’d known since he was a kid.

Makoto’s mind was blank, but somehow full of Haru – the sound of the ocean and the wind and the lingering storm seemed deafening as he leant forward to mirror Haru’s body. He didn’t feel in control of himself. He lurched forward almost drunkenly, closer than he’d meant to – or maybe he did mean to, he didn’t really know – and his hands slipped inwards, sticking on Haru’s damp skin, finding the sides of his neck. A dim heat seeped into his palms, and fingers twitched on his wrists, hesitant, tightening, keeping him in place.

Their foreheads came together with a small bump, over-zealous in the search for heat, for the touch of skin. Makoto dropped his eyes as their breath shuddered together and suddenly everything seemed so far away: everything except Haru, who was shifting closer, drawn to Makoto’s warmth.

He’d never known fear so strong, and it was a fear that had followed him for five years, like a second shadow cast off to the side. Always there. Always reminding him. He clutched at Haru almost desperately, unable to stop his own hands pushing up, fingertips on the base of his skull, sinking into wet hair, his thumbs sweeping Haru’s cheeks. He smelled like the ocean, like Haru, like familiarity and home, and Makoto’s eyes flickered shut as Haru responded to his touch. He felt Haru nudge forward, noses bumping lightly, breath mingling to a single intake.

It was a natural progression when they both met half-way, lips pressing together faintly like a test of courage, but then they met again, a proper greeting, and again, a gentle how do you do, and again, finally, an “I was scared I’d lost you”. Haru made a soft sound against his lips, and Makoto shuddered, his emotions overturning in the way only Haru could force them to. It was somehow familiar despite being the first time – it was like sinking into warm water, a comfort he couldn’t put into words.

Haru tilted his head, and Makoto pressed into him harder – they seemed to stay like that, joined quietly, with only the soft snuffle of breath caught through noses passing between them, for what seemed like forever. They both held on, Haru’s hands tight around Makoto’s wrists, Makoto’s fingers pushed into Harus’ wet hair, holding a life line they couldn’t let go. When Haru’s lips parted against his own, Makoto didn’t hesitate in greeting the other’s tongue, a low noise escaping him. It was wet and hot and it ignited a strange heat throughout the entirety of Makoto’s body even when they both struggled for breath, breaking off with a wet sound only to find each other again. Haru nudged into him, insistent, demanding, and Makoto let him – his head was light, unable to think, totally absorbed by the blank canvas that was Haru, Haru, Haru.

It seemed a long time later but all too soon that out of nowhere a voice called out to them.

“Haru! Mako!”

They broke off with a suddenness that startled them both, eyes wide, hands jumping away from one another. Haru pushed himself to his feet, turning towards the sound without anything to say, but Makoto sat a little longer, stunned. The faint colour in Haru’s cheeks, the shine of Makoto’s spit on his lips, and the soft glaze of his eyes and the imperceptible depth of his irises…

Haru paced forward to meet the other two, his shoulders stiffening in a way Makoto recognised as anger, but all he could do was smile as he stood himself up and brushed sand off himself.

He had a new chapter to add to the volumes of Haru’s expressions.


End file.
